A Perfect Gift
by MadBat27
Summary: Gordon has a run-in with the Polka Dot Man, but the goon is bringing his A-game. Luckily, Batman comes to the rescue, not once but twice. Xmas fic 11/25.


There was rattle in the lock followed by a click and the door swung open. Jim threw his trench coat over the coat stand and plodded wearily inside. Home sweet home. All he could think about was a nice hot meal and a good long rest.

"Is that you, Dad?" Barbara called from another room.

"Yeah, it's me," Jim groaned.

He dropped his briefcase by the door and strolled into the living room. The television was on, the news channel replaying his latest escapade. Oddly, it didn't look so exhausting on TV. Walking over to the coffee table he picked up the remote.

"So, who's the villain de jour?"

"The Polka-Dot Bandit," Jim replied gruffly.

"Seriously," Barbara said with a snort. "Polka-Dot Man? And here I was worrying about you."

"Give him his due," Jim grumbled. "He doesn't give up."

"Though the world wishes he would," Barbara laughed. "Even Kite-Man is embarrassed to be associated with that guy. _Kite-Man_."

Jim sighed as he sank down into the armchair. Massaging the bridge of his nose, he made a silent oath to retire. He made the same oath the year before. And every year since his return to Gotham. Barbara was still giggling away.

"His costume looks like last year's wrapping paper."

"That's the problem with facing Krill," Jim said as Barbara came in from the kitchen. "You tend to forget those dots of his are deadly."

Barbara gasped. There were scorch marks on her father's pants, rips in his shirt and the last dregs of some kind of fluid in his hair. Jim's green eyes looked unusually small without the lenses in front of them.

"What happened to your glasses?"

It was probably an odd thing to pick out first, but shock had jumbled her thoughts. Clearly, she'd been right to worry, after all. Her father looked at her with a bemused, distant look. Then his eyebrows jerked up and he produced the broken spectacles from his pocket. The frame was twisted, and the lenses missing. Jim shrugged.

"Third pair this month," he sighed. "I should start bulk-buying the things."

Babs walked over and sat down on the arm of the chair. She rubbed her thighs with her hands, like she always did when she was worried about someone. Brow furrowed, she studied her father looking for injuries. Nothing apparent. At least, nothing serious.

Singed hair made a black spot in his reddish grey moustache, but that seemed to be the limit to his physical injuries. All he needed was a hot bath, a meal and a goodnight's sleep. The final two, at least. She knew he was thinking the same thing; they were in tune that way. Always on the same page.

"Well, you just relax while I get you some coffee. Your food is already on."

"Thank you Barbara."

As she turned to leave she saw the television, still on the news channel. They were just coming to the main feature of the night: Showdown in Robinson Park. The footage rolled, and the Gordons watched as the whole confrontation played out before their eyes.

Gordon watched from the police van down the road as Abner Kril approached the jewellery store on Lexington and Fifth. They'd been expecting this for a while, ever since Abner had been spotted casing the joint the previous week, and had staked out the store for the past three nights. Now, their patience was finally paying off.

Kril stopped to leer at the arrangement of valuables, licking his lips and rubbing his hands together like some cartoon archetype. Everything about him was cartoonish: his white leotard costume, splattered with coloured spots, and the red swimming goggles over his eyes, right down to his goofy teeth and ridiculous arrogance.

He tore one of the dots from his costume and placed it against the glass, where it proceeded to grow until it reached down to the floor and up to Kril's shoulders in a perfect circle. Then it began to vibrate, shattering the glass to which it adhered.

As the circle fell through, Kril grinned. Stooping only slightly, he entered the jewellery store. That was enough for the cops. Jim made the call, and within seconds the street was crawling with cops, weapons drawn and closing in on the store.

"Give it up, Kril," Jim advised through a loudspeaker. "You're surrounded."

Kril grit his teeth – even the viewers at home could make it out – and clenched his fists. Clearly, he wasn't going down without a fight. They were going to have to do this the hard way. With a quick motion, he crashed his baseball bat through the glass cases, and scooped as much of the jewellery as he could gather into another dot which formed a sack as he ripped it from his costume.

Then, trailing rings and broaches, he leapt back through the hole into the street. More than thirty police issued Glock 19s were trained on his chest, but Mr. Polka Dot didn't seem phased, only angry that he had been interrupted.

"I seem to be in a spot of bother," he remarked neutrally.

He pressed a button on his belt, and all at once thirty eight red beams of light shot out from his costume, acquiring targets. Within seconds, every GCPD officer on the scene had a red dot hovering between their eyes.

"Now, the question is: how many lives are you willing to risk?" Kril smiled cruelly. He showed no sign that it was a bluff, nor that he feared the hail of bullets if the boys in blue opened fire. "Remember, Gordon, I've been shot before. I've never seen a spot of blood on my costume."

Gordon's jaw worked hard. Krill was right. The suit was bullet-proof, and who could say how many officer would be shot before someone made the headshot. Knowing that tricked out leotard of his, even killing him wouldn't end the gunplay. If the suit was capable of that at all. It was impossible to say for sure.

Gordon couldn't risk it. He wouldn't put the lives of his men on the line. Raising his hand, he gave the signal for his people to stand down. Slowly, reluctantly, his men replaced their guns in their holsters. Kril beamed.

"I knew, when the spotlight was on you, you'd do the right thing."

"This isn't over, Kril. You won't get away with this."

"We'll see."

Kril touched a button just above his navel, and a grappling hook launched up to the roof across the street. A second later, Mr. Polka Dot was pulled up as the wire retracted. He sailed over Gordon's head, on a course to be propelled above the edge of the roof.

Without pausing for thought, Gordon leapt into the air and grabbed the villain's legs, hanging on for dear life as they careened skyward.

"Get off me, you fool!" Mr. Polka Dot roared.

The cable snapped off just a metre before they collided with the wall, flinging Mr. Polka Dot up and over the ledge, but Gordon wasn't so lucky. The contraption hadn't been designed for two. Gordon slammed into the ledge, taking the breath right out of him. He only barely had enough wits about him to grab on.

Dangling there above the street, he felt the cool night air picking up. His jacket billowed as officers below began to shout inaudible instructions. There was a bustle of movement, as the officers moved to surround the building.

 _Good_ , Gordon thought, _they're following their training. Kril won't get away_.

Now if he only he could get up on to steady ground.

"Hello Batman," Gordon heard Kril saying. "You know, I spotted you from a mile away."

With a heave, Gordon pulled himself up, so that he could rest with his arms and chest over the ledge. He saw Kril, and beyond him, the Dark Knight. Against the light of the rising moon, Batman was a ghoulish sight, his cape drifting out like smoke, the ears on his cowl seeming more like horns. The white eyes were little more than angular slits, piercing and chilling.

Mr. Polka Man stared him down.

"Make this easy on yourself, Kril," Batman told him. "Give up, _now_."

"I don't think so, Batman," Kril responded, pulling a series of dots from his arm. "I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve!"

In his hands, the dots became explosives, which he armed with a press of the thumb. Batman dived to his left as the first rattled across the apartment roof and exploded in a mess of fire and shrapnel. But Kril didn't let up. He threw three more in quick succession, tracking Batman as he darted across the roof, his cape trailing behind him.

As the blasts continued, Gordon pulled himself up and rolled on to the roof, trying hard to keep the groans from alerting Kril to his presence. His ribs ached from the impact with the wall, and his glasses had fallen off somewhere along the line.

With another supressed groan, he pushed himself to his feet. Fist clenched, he loped towards Kril as the maniac threw another handful of cherry-bombs. I'm getting too old for this, Jim thought. He grabbed Kril's shoulder and pulled him around so that they were face to face. Kril's eyes went wide as Gordon threw a devastating right hook.

Kril staggered back for a moment, then stumbled forwards and grabbed Gordon by the lapel. They moved a few steps closer to the edge, both trying hard to regain their balance, but Gordon could see that Kril was moments from passing out.

"Let me guess: you're seeing spots."

Kril dropped flat on his back with a thud, and a crack of glass. The wire frame of Gordon's spectacles poked out from under his left shoulder, twisted under the so-called supervillain's weight. Gordon sighed. He barely noticed Batman coming to his side.

"Good teamwork, there," Gordon said, without looking up.

"Let's hope the media approve."

He looked up to the sky and Gordon followed his gaze. A news chopper had been circling the block the whole time, its rotors kicking up dust and whirring with an immense sound. Somehow, it had been no more than background noise before. _Drowned out by the sound of my heart beating in my ears_ , Gordon thought.

"I can't see why they wouldn't. We did good work here today," Gordon said. He turned around and was slightly surprised to see the vigilante still standing there. "You can't always hide in shadows if you really want to help this city."

Batman nodded. Then, without a word, he leapt from the roof, firing his grapnel as he did so and swinging off into the urban jungle. It was the first time Gordon had ever seen him leave.

"Wow," Babs said. "Dots do not look good on him. Luckily, I think orange is his color."

Jim switched the TV off and sighed. He seemed to do that a lot lately. Sigh and groan, usually in pain. Maybe it was getting time he got a desk job. Something cushy where he could put his feet up. A bottle of bourbon in the top drawer and a case of cigars by the phone.

He smiled to himself. He would see Batman behind a desk before he'd go. The street was where he belonged, keeping people safe. Not pushing paper. He'd never allow that, no matter what responsibilities were piled on his plate. Not Jim Gordon.

"Barbara, have you left the window open?" Jim said, shivering. "It's a little cold in here."

"Not me," Babs replied, walking into the other room to check. "But I think I've found a clue as to who did."

She came back holding a small almond shaped case of black and gold, decorated with gold threads and a central motif of acanthus and scrollwork. If Gordon hadn't missed his guess, it was 19th Century, from the French Restoration period.

Babs handed it to him as if she were cradling a child.

"Well, open it."

Doing as he was told, Jim revealed the tortoise shell glasses within, nestled in silver paper. He took them out carefully, and gently unfolded the frames. Idly, he wondered how much they were worth. He expected it was a lot.

Finally, he noted the thick string attached to one end of the pouch. It tied to a yellow label, a simple oval of card. It depicted a bat in solid black. Jim smiled.

"Just what I wanted."


End file.
